WORLD of MUSIC

Hawera Star, Volume XLVIII, 25 October 1924, Page 13

WORLD of MUSIC

The promoters of the benefit concert on behalf of the fund to secure a piano for the Old Men’s Home are : to be congratulated on the success of their enterprise. They put on a jolly fine concert,, and there was an appreciative audience, with the result that everything went with a great swing. The net result is such that 1 with the subsidy expected the object desired wi]l be attained.

In the course of an instructive paper l on the “Evuiucion of Music,” Mr r Laurence Watkins, Mus.Bac., Welling- ( ton, stressed the great advances being r •made in England. He said that Eng- a land up to the time of William the c Comqueror led- the way in music in t Europe, through its succession “of in- j epired bands. The first setback it re- j t ceived was from Edward I.', who, find- t ing he could not subdue the fiery r Welsh so long as they were inspired it to deeds of valour by their national j ■songs, set out to kill the bardsy. but t even that could not stem the flood of t England’s minstrelsy, and music ad- f vanced steadily. Another setback came £ with the wave of Puritanism in Crom- « well’s time. England bad come to the i fore during the last half-century, and ‘ to-dny was in advance of all nations of the world musically. A lot of young Englishmen were doing wonderful work, and were breaking fresh ground, ( too. 5 “FLORADORA.” I 1 ■ . ■. ! : Our Stratford operatic friends made j * a great success with their performances of “Cingalee” some months ago, s reaching a very high standard of ex- ( ceilence in their production from every ( point of view. They came to Hawera * and put on a show good enough to attract all who are keen on opera. But they were not too well supported. Undismayed, .they have resolved, however, to return with their latest work , “Floradora,” a most entertaining and picturesque ojiera. We hope that the * people of Hawera and district will • show an appreciation of the efforts_ of 1 their neighbours in. their aim at im- | proving the standard of music in the 1 province, and support the society as our own society would be supported if v they went to Stratford. They can be quite assured it is a good show' well staged and well put on in every way. j .The company includes a large number of very clever and talented performers, and ; their musical director and producer are both capable and enthusiastic each in his own sphere. - ' HANDEL. There is a tradition in > Cardigan-, shire that Handel was once a visitor at Hafod, the mansion of the Johnes family. It is said that while there he went with his host, Mr Johnes, to Llangeitho Church to a great Methodist meeting. There he heard the preacher get into the “hwyl,” and his eloquence moved the congregation to punctuate his discourse with shouts of “gogoniant”—glory. • Upon his return to ' Hafod, under the inspiration of what he had heard, he composed his great “Hallelujah Chorus.” This is interesting, and it may be true, but it is based on but little evidence. A huge fire took place at Hafod in 1807, and many precious* books and manuscripts were* destroyed. The tradition seems to have originated in the statement of a : gardener employed at Hafod. It is well -known that many matters of interest have been handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth, and! a recent writer, a Mr Hall, says this old man, John Bennett Jenkins, was above the average in intelligence and had a wonderful memory. In other matters facts he. had related were proved accurate. An old lady, Mrs Sarah Williams,, who published a volume of poems in 1868 retailed the Handel-Hafod story in a footnote. Oh the other hand, no biographer of Handel mentions it, and Meyrick, who wrote a history of Cardiganshire about 1800, is equally silent.

Handel died in 1759. He composed the Messiah in 1741/ and it was given in Dublin under his personal conductorship, flo he must have passed through Chester and North Wales, but North Wales is not Hafod. It is known that Handel was interested in Powell, harper to George 11. He wrote several concertos for him, and one was performed at Lady Llanover’e London house in 1870.

1: ll a l t i i ( ( 1 (Bv “Strad,” in Christchurch Press.) 1 As a preliminary to a fascinating 1 article on Robert Schumann, I 'Strad” says: “Vaguely we talk of classical and romantic music. What signify these labels? The very'term ‘classical’ ' alarms the public, who shrink from it as something too severe and incomprehensive for the layman. In reality, the term applies more to rigidity of form and harmonic rules than to the sanction as master works by age and their recognition as models. Musical forms used to cling tenaciously to time-honoured traditions. Learned theorists stood watch and held up their hands in horror, anathematising the daring spirit prone to violate the sanctity of iron-bound laws. How a Beethoven loathed them and squirmed under their grip! Thus for ages the evolution “of musical art proceeded at a snail’s pace. But from the seventeenth century onwards it moved vigorously ahead, and developed during the nineteenth century into the most restless and revolutionary of, all the arts. Bach* at once the giant of the polyphonic style (implying the combination of independent parts), and the advance guard of the harmonic invasion, was soon followed by a great school which is immortalised in the names of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. Between them they elaborated and perfected the greater art-forms, attaining with Beethoven their supreme glories. Still they conformed to restrictions against which the spirit of nineteenth century composers rose in revolt. The craving for freedom was universally the craving of the age. Taking its cue "foom the romanticism of the poets conspicuous in the early | years of the nineteenth century and flourishing in France and England as in Cermany, music found new inspiration as voiced in the works of Schubert, Weber. Chopin, and—Schumann, the most imaginative and poetical personality of the group. Beethoven had already struck a deep note of romanticism, which in music may not merely be regarded as an expression of sentimentality suggestive of moonlight and erotic ecstasy. In the first place it aimed at breaking dcyivn the barriers of sanctioned art-fonns and the greater elasticity so acquired permitted in turn a fuller mirroring of human emotions holder flights of fancy. Under these impulses the genius, the romanticism, of Robert Schumann found i*oot and growth.” HEALING POWER OF MUSIC. Sir Robert Armstrong-Jones, in a letter to The Times on the “Healing

CLASSICAL AND ROMANTIC IN MUSIC.

Power of Music,” says: “Those whose i vocation is the care of the mind will i realise how much they owe to the t curative agency of the emotion roused a by music, in the lestoration of dis- I eased mental states, and how by' its 1 means hope and courage’hnay, be raised, c despondency dissipated, and healthy f mental action may he stimulated. The 1 power of- music over the roughest ele- i ments in our streets is fully lecognised s by such valued religious and social ’ movements as the Salvation and t Church Armies, for they provide har- f monies for the most diverse minds a and they s-oothe the deepest cravings } of the human heart.’’ Sir Robert' adds ] that he is concerned with the thera- ] peutic effects of music rather'than with | the psychological or the aesthetic, but j the rhythmic succession of sounds in music is a part of the rhythm of Na- . ture, for all the vital functions are { periodic and rhythmic. “I am inclined to think that the melodic phrasing and the flood of vocal tones emanating from a highly-trained group of choirs j are more capable of stirring the deepest emotional currents than is the , music of instrumentalists.” j 'dancing in a churchyard. ; The new rector of St. Paul’s, Covent j Garden, is bent upon developing the , social life of his parish. There is no ■ suitable institute, so the churchyard . ; has- been utilised. This churchyard was ' I recently the scene of a dance, given , iat the rector’s invitation.. The weather ; was unfavourable, but when the rain * stopped tfierd was a fair number of dancers. Music was provided by an ; orchestra stationed on the steps out- 1 side the chur.’ch, and before the dance 1 there was a concert given by the choir. '* NEW MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. j ‘ In a symphony entitled “At the Front,” composed by a French ex- : soldier, the musicians use novel in- ' struments, including 20 typewriters. It j is uncertain whether they are meant to represent rifle flic or the noise, of a busy headquarters. CHINESE MUSICAL NOTES. According to modern Western ideas, : the importance of each note of the scale varies very little, though their names, “Tonic,” “Dominant,” etc., remind us that not many years ago * this was not so. The ancient Chinese had another way of naming their notes, as well as another way of reckoning their importance. With them the order of importance came in order of succession, and what we regard as the lowest note they regarded as the highest, and vice versa. They had a scale of five notes, of which the lowest, in our reckoning, was called the “Emperor,” the second the “Prime Minister,” the third “Loyal Subjects,” the fourth . “Affairs of State,” and the .fifth “Mirror of the World.” This Pentatonic Scale, as it is called, is found all over the world in primitive races, but prob- : ably nowhere else than in China are ; the notes given such high-sounding . titles. - ' A FLUTE IN THE LONDON DUSK. , .(Christian Science Monitor.) Just, as tne taso ngut ui na.. ; tiugeing. tile tops o» tUo innix-o uee;> r opposite my window mtn.uim t>OiU, [ random- nooes oi music sioie up to nu. i out ox tire sounds ox city trau.-c, v©i\> , iaint and xur away, uiie a vagueiy susl pec ted odor ox luac oiossoiu coming - on a quiet oreeze. iit mst tney lnignt - have been-the tones ox a vioiin or oi s some street singer going from cioor to • door, so iar on and xaintly beard triey 0 were; but little by little tney eniergeu 3 trom the tangled noises of the street a and grew upon my ear until I anew ® them lor the notes ot a flute sioltuilj * piayed and gradually drawing nearer. “ At last i began to make out some rragy ments of a tune —just enough to lay a warp, over wfucn i couid throw rl whatever woof of melody my fancy j 1 liked—and still the music came on, j growing louder as the sunset waned. , For me, at least, as 1 stood there

istemng to that, music which, welleu ip so strangely out of the spring dust, ill the other sounds of London seemeu lushed into a whisper, harkening. All die bells and gongs and all the rushing wheels and human calls and laughter which make the total mighty voice of London, fell silent for the moment, or at least I did not hear them, while those r magic tones advanced from square,to. square, singing in tone what the sunset had just painted in colour, making clear in melody what the day then! passing had striven to say with its innumerable discordant tones. For one person at least among the thousands who heard them, those cool and reedy notes seemed to solve the bewildered tangle of the vast city, reducing the ten million voices to one clear voice which, if not yet quite simple in meaning, was nevertheless single, confident, self-contained, was certainly courageous, unhurried, and glad. All this while the dusk had been settling down and purple shadows had been gathering under the frees in the squar© across the way. Beautiful trees they were at any time, tracing a lovely pattern against even the dullest of London skies, but now, as the twilight deepened among them and lights began to tw'inkle behind their softly swaying boughs, they were invested with a mystery which I had never seen in them before; they took on suddenly a country grace, a sylvan wildness, which was almost startling when one remembered that they stood within a mile of St. Paul’s. By way of extenuation of what I am going to confess, I shall only say that this was one of London’s witching hours when she puts on beauty like a garment, and that both the place and time were propitious to the irresponsible play of fancy # Having said that much, and having recalled the fact that many more rational men than I have felt the spell of this same glamour, I make no further apology for the statement that I suddenly felt, standing there by my open window and listening to that steadily growing music, that Pan himself was at that moment threading the streets of London toward me and “pouring upon mortals his beautiful disdain.” How else to explain these veils of wonder falling softly between me and the familiar scene across the way, which I looked at now with a glad surprise as though I saw it for the first time? How else to understand the sudden h"sli upon all sounds of traffic, which left those notes to soar and float alone? But there was something stranger still which defied any commonplace explanation—the way in which this m”.sL seemed to sum up in itself all that. T •ornlon is and has been or is yet to be. all the voices of the day just ended and all the of long ago. T^e i music of tin's flute in the London dusk, : to me, was like a little fountain snring- | ing from that quiet pool of tone at ; the earth’s dark roots into which all

the ephemeral voices of the world sink down and sleep. It brought me back the grave and tender' tone of Shakespeare, to the old home beside the Thames, and it had in it the'laughter of Dan Chaucer and the song the Roman soldiers sang as they wrought at London’s wall. It ■ had the manly vigor of Johnson’s voice and the beautiful fervor of Burke, and also it had the sweet, clear singing of Spenser, which seems to come out of another land. And I saw how it -was, while 1 listened, that one and the same city could have given the world both graceful fancy and ordered government, kings both of thought and of dream and masters of whimsy. I understood how such sylvan creatures as Perdita and Miranda and all the jolly company ol the Forest of Arden could have come from this “giant ant-hill of the plain,” and how John Keats went out from here to be the Prince, of Fairy Lands Forlorn. It did not seem strange that Pan should be walking London streets in the gathering twilight, playing on his magic flute, for it - was made clear to me that he had always been there, playing just such tunes for those who could hear. »

Suddenly the notes leapt up from faint to loud as the player came round v the corner and crossed the road to a | lilac bush, just bursting into blossom, \ which grew in the open square. By v this time the light had failed, so that f I could see him only as a moving f shadow, hut his music seemed to bring the sunlight back again, springing like j the bright jet of a fountain up from j his darkling covert to the house-fronts • across the w r ay, and falling back again in a shower of sunny melody. For the music seemed at this point to J change, and it sang no longer the hidden thoughts and dreams of the an- ] cient city, but those of the trees and . flowers in the little park. It became . the voice- of the budding plane tree and of the young leaves of the lilacs, ‘ green with early May, and it sang the song of thq daffodils lost to sight J among jthe shadows. More than this it ■ sang, for all the country seemed to be flooding into London, as it played. ( There were songs of little rivers rae- ’ ing in the mirth of springtime, voices ■ of young lambs on a thousand hills, 1 and hints of the coming nightingale. I This was no mere strolling musician 1 who could bring such news of the 1 green and growing land, making me 1 see as though they were before my very eyes the long keen lines of the ' southern downs against a crumble ■of ' sunset, smooth beeches on the Yorkshire wolds, and the brown mass of a Devon headland, about whose knees the foam was breaking. * At last the strange musician moved on into the darkness, still playing as he went. And while the notes receded slowly, it seemed to me that the strands .of the first and second music were twisting, interweaving, so that I could not tell whether it was the song of the country he was playing now dr that of the town, for it seemed both of these at once, and yet something greater than either. There were recollections, I thought, of both the earlier tunes, hut all sublimed and raised nearly out of recognition. What was this final song to which all the night seemed listening, this music that came from elemental earth and from the air, and which had in it a thousand noble voices of men and women ? Here were all the misted shires and all the streets of the city, singing together, and her s e were the two thousand years of history, together with this lovely evening just blossoming into stars. As all utterly simple things are likely to be, this last tune was quite gone into the night I 'knew it for what it was. This music that sang not of London alone, nor yet of the country, but which wove the two into a higher harmony lovelier than either — ’ this was the Song of England. Pausing here and there at intervals, the music went away as gradually as it ' had come, and throbbed so long upon the edge of silence that I could not be 1 sure when it finally -ceased, and when ’ it was only the fancy that, kept it singing on.. When at last it was quite gene and I. turned away from the open ' window, the stars were shining clear " overhead upon the vast city and the ' little island to which the song belongs ’ O. S.

HYLAS, I HEAR YOU CALLING. Hylas, I hear you calling from the marshes, Down where the water sparkles in the grasses, Calling with the voice of a hundred fiddles That Winter passes. When I approach with noiseless footsteps, trying To see whence comes the lovely orchestration, j Peering here arid there, suddenly 'it ceases — Not a vibration! Then, after quiet . waiting, [recommences The swelling symphony of Spring’s magicians, Violins played in couch-grass and celandines By hid musicians. Pleasant it is to hear your 'voice, 0 Hylas, Arising thinly sweet when beaming Hesper And the Pleiads rise, and young lambs are feeding, And south winds whisper. Auburn-haired Hylas, waking all the marshlands With vour c'ear call across the thickets ringing So near at hand, vet seemingly so far off— Ah, sweet your singing! —Pierre Vivante. (From the ‘‘Best Poems of 1923.” selected bv Thomas Moult).

ALLEGED HUMOUR. X.—“ That famous soprano von had at your dinner party last night sang like a bird.” Y. —“Like a bird :s right. I was conscious of her bill the entire evening.” “Handel 1 think is the greatest song writer, not except Hubert.” — Provincial paper. “Who is this Hubert, anyhow?”— Punch. Musician, to old lady calling on him : “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. I am certainly a doctor—but a doctor of music.” Old lady: “Oh, yes. I know, sir. That’s, why I came to you. I’ve got such a singing in my ears.” OUR LONG SUFFERING MUSICIANS. “There was a very fair attendance at St. ’s Church on Tuesday, evening last, when Mr gave a very dej lightful organ recital, but not nearly bo good as the occasion deserved or the obiect required.”—West Indian paper. The series of international chamber concerts has so far thriven on the nn- | fortunate illness which kept Mr away.—Provincial paper.